


Try Again

by herohelio



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Gen, Light Angst, basically reki's side of while langa's talking to his mom, joe is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herohelio/pseuds/herohelio
Summary: “If you’re gonna teach me a trick,” Reki finds himself saying, “then you can forget it. I—I’m busy. You can go. Leave.”He should be teaching it to Langa, someone that’ll actually make use of it. Not him. Never him. Not anymore.Joe blinks and stares at him. “What, you got homework or something? Thought you guys don’t have school tomorrow.”“Uh, no, but I, uh—““Then come in!” A hand claps his back and Reki almost chokes at the force of it, Joe already steering him inside. “I need some help moving boxes.”Or: Joe gives Reki some advice.
Relationships: Kyan Reki & Nanjo Kojiro | Joe, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 119





	Try Again

**Author's Note:**

> barely managed to finish this before ep 9,,,,made it :>

Joe’s restaurant rests on the corner of a street that Reki’s skated past during the years without realizing. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been there—after all, the night before Langa’s beef with Adam had them all gathered there to talk strategy, but that feels like almost years ago and Reki had been too focused on making sure his best—okay, maybe ex-best friend, wait no, no, no—to properly pay attention to the rest of the surroundings. The lights from the inside cast warm amber hues through the glass, much like the traffic lights back at S.

For someone who’s not any good at skateboarding, he sure thinks of it a lot. Reki bites the inside of his cheek.

“Ah, Kaoru must’ve let himself in,” he hears Joe mumble from beside him. That raises a number of questions (Who?! What?!) but they’re quickly forgotten as Joe turns to him. “Come on in.”

It’s a miracle how Joe manages to fit in through the doorway, seven feet of pure strength and muscle. A small part of Reki’s brain rattles off facts about him (No less than to be expected from one of the strongest skaters! So cool—) but he puts a halt on that as well. Fanboy later. Actually no, no fanboying. Look where that got him. “If you’re gonna teach me a trick,” Reki finds himself saying, “then you can forget it. I—I’m busy. You can go. Leave.”

He should be teaching it to Langa, someone that’ll actually make use of it. Not him. Never him. Not anymore.

Joe blinks and stares at him. “What, you got homework or something? Thought you guys don’t have school tomorrow.”

Crap. “Uh, no, but I, uh—“

“Then come in!” A hand claps his back and Reki almost chokes at the force of it, Joe already steering him inside. The inside’s the same from the last time he’d been here, if not a lot larger and emptier. Reki can smell the faint scent of the Italian food wafting from the kitchen, his mouth-watering despite just eating. “I need some help moving boxes.”

That’s a complete lie if Reki’s ever heard one, staring at Joe’s arms and muscles keeping him in place. But it feels kinda rude to say no, seeing as Joe was the one who dragged him here after they finished their meals at the ramen shop (that he paid for, cause Joe somehow didn’t have enough cash to even make up a third of the price. Jeez, Langa was better than—no, stop thinking—).

“Boxes?” Reki says. Joe steers him behind the counter. Stacked on top of each other, a pile of boxes almost tower over his figure. “Ohhhhh, gotcha.”

“You’ll help out?” It’s casual, too casual, and Reki can almost hear the words from hours ago echoing in his head.

_Don’t ever end up alone._

“Yeah sure, I guess.” He shrugs. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do. Evenings were filled with skating and hanging out with Langa and well, that’s obviously a no-go. This isn’t exactly skating, at least. “Start from the top?”

Joe’s eyes glint under the fluorescent lighting. “Yup,” he says, clapping his back once more and heading into the kitchen. “Move em outside for me, will ya?”

None of the boxes he carries that evening are heavier than his heart.

* * *

He gets about a third of them down and it’s also coincidentally the number of times his phone rings in his back pocket. Reki doesn’t need to take it out to know who it is—Langa, two texts and a phone call. One with his name and the next asking what he’s doing, just like it’s been for the past week. Unlike the boxes, duct-taped and neatly packed away, Reki opens their messages up and lets his eyes glaze over the screen.

**1 missed call**

**Langa:** Reki?  
 **Langa:** My mom was asking about you

_Why?_ He almost types but deletes it before he can send it. They’re not even supposed to be talking to each other. That’s the whole point of the Reki-Langa Break Up. The “RL-BU”, because saying it all out makes it sound like they were a couple. Dating. Oh god, Langa as a boyfriend. As if he could ever be on that level. Speaking of which, that’s what Langa should be doing now that he’s not spending his time with him 24/7. Girls used to glare at him for taking away their beloved prince away to skateboard and nowadays they just look at him with pity in their eyes. Major downgrade.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost misses the green dot next to Langa’s name, a small bubble appearing at the bottom of the screen. It disappears after a few seconds but comes right back up. Reki sets a box down and hops onto the counter while he waits.

“Feet off the table,” Joe says, tossing a towel and cleaning spray to him. “Are you trying to make me fail the hygiene check?”

“Sorry!” Reki scrambles off and wipes it down fast. By the time he’s finished, Langa still hasn’t finished typing.

Hopping onto a chair, Reki crosses his legs and props his elbows on his knees. Whatever it is must be important, if it’s making Langa take this long. Maybe it’s about skateboarding, and Reki’s _definitely_ not ready to talk about that. Maybe in a few weeks. A month. Probably forever. The RL-BU then? And now he’s told his mom so Reki needs to be prepared to get chewed out, Hasegawa-style. Oh god. Still though, the thought of just being _with_ Langa, happy and smiling, tugs at his heartstrings.

He really took their time together for granted.

“Hey, Reki.” Joe steps into the room. He’s changed out of his usual orange-striped shirt into a chef’s jacket, tying a red apron around his waist. It’s way past closing hours, but Reki decides not to ask. “Can you bring that one in here?”

He’s pointing at a box at the top. Reki shuts his phone off before grabbing it. There’s something scribbled on the top in fancy script that he wouldn’t have taken Joe to have but well, everybody’s got their own hidden talents, he supposes. Everybody except him.

“Thanks,” Joe says once he’s placed the box down. “You got a lot done.”

“Not really.”

“Nah, really.” Joe ruffles his hair. Without his headband, it’s been a lot more tangled and less manageable. It’s a miracle how Reki can see most days, constantly throwing his head back to keep his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re a big help,” Joe says, full sincerity behind the words.

Reki runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll head out now,” he says, ignoring what he last said. His face is warm just from the compliment. “Thanks for having me,” he adds as an afterthought. Manners. His mother would kill him otherwise.

He almost makes it out of the kitchen before Joe speaks up once more.

“You coming to S later?”

_Godammit._ “Uh—“ Reki looks down. “No.”

He leaves it at that. One word answer. Or as he likes to put it—Langa-style. Reki stands in the middle of the doorway, holding his breath. He could book it, yet his body stays rooted to the ground and he hasn’t got the energy to run anyway. Joe’s staring at him, mind seeming to mull over his words. It feels like hours when he finally nods in understanding, a smile on his face—wait, smile?!

“Okay.” Joe laughs, genuine. He beams as he turns back to the stove. “At least stay for a bit, though. Figured I owe you a meal or two.”

Reki blinks. It’s his turn to process the words before speaking. Seriously? Nothing else? Just that? “You don’t hafta...”

The words die in his throat as Joe spreads tomato sauce on top of a bowl of pasta, offering it to him. It takes less than a second for his mouth to water despite having eaten ramen hours ago. Less than a second to plop down at a chair in the counter, dish laid out in front of him. Less than a second to shovel a forkful in his mouth and swallow all of his insecurities waiting on the tip of his tongue.

“There it is.”

“There’s what?” Reki asks, around a mouthful of spaghetti. Sauce sticks to his upper lip and he licks it off. Sweet.

“Your smile,” Joe says. He sets a napkin in front of him. “I was beginning to think it had gone away.”

Reki’s face warms up. Probably the food’s fault. “Man, you say stuff like that—“ He wipes the side of his face. “No wonder so many girls are after you.”

Joe chuckles and offers nothing more than a wink and smile. It’s not like the one he normally gives to his fans; it’s more mischievous, and for a moment Reki sees a flash of neon green, striped gloves waving at him with a cat-like smirk.

Miya.

A flower petal falls onto the counter, pink almost white hue in the lighting. Joe chucks it back into the vase, most of the plants bright and flourishing. There’s a ribbon wrapped around it, a faded logo printed on the end of it that Reki can recognize from anywhere.

Shadow.

He shakes his head. Stop thinking. Reki shoves another forkful into his mouth. 

He’s already eaten this before, the taste familiar the more he chews. His spoon clatters on the countertop and Reki cleans it with the napkin, memories of moving his plate away so a certain someone wouldn’t try eating it flooding his senses. There are some things he can’t wipe away on cheeks and patch up with bandages. Things that’ll trickle down like raindrops and tears on his face. Things that’ll fall, scream, laugh, and smile all at once; that’ll stare at him like he’s the coolest person in the world, melting away the faint beginnings of snow.

_Langa._

His phone hasn’t rung yet. Reki rubs at his eyes. Must be the lighting.

Somehow, he manages to finish the meal. He stares at his distorted reflection on the plate and then countertop when Joe comes to take it away. Propping a hand under his chin, Reki gazes at the stranger.

There is no way what he used to be and what he is now are the same person.

“It's on the house,” Joe says, tapping the counter. “So you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“...Thanks.” Reki blows his bangs out of his eyes. Even his voice sounds off.

Joe pauses, glancing at him and the kitchen. He sets the plate aside and leans on the other side of the counter, several feet away from Reki. The silence stretches on, the only sound a faint beeping in the background. Reki’s about to grab his bag and head out until Joe clears his throat.

“You know what every chef’s goal is?”

Reki looks up. “To make food?” He guesses.

“Well, that too.” Joe chuckles. “But more than that. Similar to skateboarding, you know?”

That is the last thing Reki wants to talk about, but the wistful look on Joe’s face makes him hold his tongue. Joe crosses his arms and leans back, a small smile on his face a wave of nostalgia rolls over him.

“When you skate and fall, you get right back up. Try and try again. It’s stupid, really, but you can’t stop. You want to keep going. Keep reaching high. Doesn’t matter if you get there or not—just as long as you try.

“Cooking’s like that. You make a dish, and hey, maybe first it sucks. It tastes terrible. You burn your hand or cut it on accident too. A whole new round of injuries.” Joe makes a face and shudders. “Then you do it again. Maybe it’ll taste better, or maybe it’ll taste worse. Who knows. You don’t have to be the best at something to enjoy it.”

Joe gestures around. “I work in a restaurant,” he says. “Most of my cooking’s not for myself. I serve it to other people, making them happy. That’s the whole point. Sharing something you love with the people you also love. You make them happy, and more importantly, yourself happy.”

_Happy._

The hospital hadn’t been happy at all when he visited. Nor was _he._

_Happy._

School’s not any fun. Not even shifts at Dope Sketch, Oka staring at the two of them with concern but the judgment to not press. Reki almost feels bad—now Oka’s got two people to call out on fake “it’s fine”’s.

_Happy._

It feels like a lifetime ago he yelled that to the world.

_(“What is it that makes you happy?”)_

What makes him happy is—

The gears turn in his head.

_Oh._

It’s not like the realization he had in the rain, stemming from fear that had enveloped him whole to the point where he was drowning under the weight of it all. The water here barely reaches past his shoes. A small puddle, and in the middle of it all, a melting patch of snow.

“So,” Joe says, and Reki snaps his head to look at him, _really_ look at him, since the first time he’s come here. There’s a bright grin on his face. “You heading to S later?”


End file.
